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(Two nymphs1 adorned with ever" grace
Now wantoned lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight,
With, scarce a slower flight.
It was the time when Ouse displayed
His lilies newly blown;
And one I wished my own.
With cane extended far I sought
To steer it close to land:
Escaped my eager hand.
Beau marked my unsuccessful pains
And puzzling set his puppy brains
But with a cherup clear and strong.
Dispersing all his dream,
The windings of the stream.
My ramble ended, I returned;
Beau, trotting far before,
And plunging left the shore.
I saw him with that lily cropped
Impatient swim to meet
The treasure at my feet.
Charmed with the sight, The world, I cried,
My dog shall mortify the pride
But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,
To Him who gives me all.
TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALIBUT,
ON WHICH I DIKED THIS DAY. MONDAY, APRIL 26, 1784
Where hast thou floated, in what seas pursued
Thy pastime? When wast thou an egg new spawned,
1 Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.
Lost in the immensity of ocean's waste?
Roar as they might, the overbearing winds
That rocked the deep, thy cradle, thou wast safe—
And in thy minikin and embryo state,
Attached to the firm leaf of some salt weed,
Didst outlive tempests, such as wrung and racked
The joints of many a stout and gallant bark,
And whelmed them in the unexplored abyss.
Indebted to no magnet and no chart,
Nor under guidance of the polar fire,
Thou wast a voyager on many coasts,
Grazing at large in meadows submarine,
Where fiat Batavia just emerging peeps
Above the brine,—where Caledonia's rocks
Beat back the surge,—and where Hibernia shoots
Her wondrous causeway far into the main.
—Wherever thou h.i^t fed, thou little thoughtst,
And I not more, that I should feed on thee
Peace, therefore, and good health, and much good fish,
To him who sent thee !—and success, as oft
As it descends into the billowy gulf,
To the same drag that caught thee !—Fare thee well!
Thy lot thy brethren of the slimy fin
Would envy, could they know that thou wast doomed
To feed a bard, and to be praised in verse.
ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETU
This cap, that so stately appears,
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Ambitious of brushing the sky;
She gave it, and gave me beside,
The ribbon with which it is tied.
This wheel-footed studying chair,
Contrived both for toil and repose,
In which I both scribble and doze,
And rival in lustre of that
Fair Cassiopeia sat:
These carpets, so soft to the foot,
O spare them, ye knights of the boot,
This table and mirror within,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin,
This moveable structure of shelves,
For its beauty admired and its use,
The gayest I had to produce;
My poems enchanted I view,
My Iliad and Odyssey too:
This china, that decks the alcove,
Which here people call a buffet,
Has ne'er been revealed to us yet:
Or cool as the season demands,
Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands:
All these are not half that I owe
To One, from our earliest youth
Benignity, friendship, and truth;
And foe of our perishing kind,
Much less could he alter her mind.
Thus compassed about with the goods
And chattels of leisure and ease,
In many such fancies as these;
Poets' goods are not often so fine;
When I sing of the splendour of mine.
COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ., IMMEDIATELY AFTr.S HIS DEATH, BY HIS NEPHEW WILLIAM OF WESTON.
Farewell! endued with all that could engage
In life's last stage, (O blessings rarely found !)
Through every period of this changeful state Unchanged thyself—wise, good, affectionate I
Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem Overcharged with praises on so dear a theme, Although thy worth be more than half supprest, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.
SONG ON PEACE.
WRITTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1783, AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN, WHO GAVE THE SENTIMENT.
Air—" My fond shepherds of late," &V.
No longer I follow a sound;
No longer a dream I pursue;
Unattainable treasure, adieu!
I have sought thee in splendour and dress,
I have sought thee, and seemed to possess,
A humble ambition and hope
'Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope,
Peace may be the lot of the mind
But rapture and bliss are confined
ALSO WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN.
Air-" The Lass ofPattu's Mill."
When all within is peace,
How nature seems to smile;
The live-long day beguile.
With open hand she showers
And soothe the silent hours.
It is content of heart
Gives nature power to please;
Enlivens all it sees,
Can make a wintry sky
Seem bright as smiling May,
And evening's closing eye
The vast majestic globe,
So beauteously arrayed
With wondrous skill displayed,
A dreary wild at best;
And longs to be at rest.
EPITAPH ON JOHNSON.
Here Johnson lies, a sage by all allowed,
Whom to have bred, may well make England proud;
Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught,
The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought;
Whose verse may claim, grave, masculine and strong,
Superior praise to the mere poet's song;
Who many a noble gift from Heaven possessed,
And faith at last, alone worth all the rest.
O man, immortal by a double prize,
By fame on earth, by glory in the skies I
TO MISS C , ON HER BIRTHDAY.
How many between east and west,
Disgrace their parent earth,
The day that gave them birth!
Revolving months restore,
And wish her bom once more!
When a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold
It is passed between cylinders often, and rolled
Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appears